In the Kingdom's Name (Guardian of Scotland Book 2) (21 page)

“Bonny Eva, I have loved ye since the first day I chanced to espy ye cowering under that altar.” He brought the back of her hand to his lips and bowed his head, his breath ever so warm and soft as he kissed her. “I have never loved a woman the way my heart pines for ye. My soul was but an empty shell when ye left me—I ken it was my fault the black magic took ye away, but without your tenderness I was nothing but a fighting engine, existing like a hairy beast.”

“But—”

He squeezed her hand again. “I dunna ever want ye to leave me again, though I ken it could happen. I, too, want to live for the now, but every time we come to a great man’s home, it pains me to have to tell them ye are not my wife.”

She nodded, clenching her teeth. Tears burned the back of her eyes. Lord, he was right.

“Eva, ye are my wife in every sense of the word, except we have not pledged our love before God. Please. I ken our time together is fleeting. I ken ye could be taken from me on the morrow. I ken my own days are numbered, for I can no longer fight with the strength of Goliath. And though I ken all this, I still want ye to be mine in the eyes of God. No matter how long we have together, even if only a day, I want to make things holy and pure between us.”

A lump the size of her fist formed in Eva’s throat. She could scarcely see his handsome face through the blur of her tears. God, why did she have to come back? How could she deny him? She loved him with a passion that burned so deep it scorched her soul. Would she spend an eternity with William? Yes. In a heartbeat she’d marry him—if this man kneeling before her was not...

He opened his palm and revealed a silver ring woven in a Celtic knot. “I had this made for ye at Dirleton ever so long ago, and I would be honored if ye would agree to be my wife.” His hand shook and his eyes pleaded. “Please, I want ye to be my lady.”

He slid the ring over her finger—a perfect fit.

Eva stared at it with tears streaming down her cheeks. So intricate, such detailed work.
How did he know my size? And he’s been carrying this all these years?

“Yes,” her voice said as if it had grown a mind of its own.

Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her into his body and rested his head against her abdomen. “Praise be to God. I dunna ken if I would have been able to live if ye had denied me.”

William considered it a blessing when John Blair and the men arrived the next day. He wanted to wed Eva as soon as possible before the lass had a change of heart—or did something that would return her to the future.

He might be completely daft to marry, but something deep inside his soul told him the black magic behind that damned medallion would be crushed by holy matrimony. He’d spent many a day in quiet repose thinking about this, searching for answers in the lines of his psalter, and marriage was the only answer.
What God hath joined together let no man put asunder
. Yes. Marrying the lass was the only way he knew to keep her. He should have insisted they wed ages ago.

He stood beside John Blair and Sir Forrester on the dais tapping his toes inside his boots. Hell, if the men had any inkling of the extent of his jitters, they’d never let him live it down.

“Have ye a mind to settle nearby?” asked Forrester. He was a crusty sort with rheumy eyes and a bulbous nose, but he had a forthright and honorable mien.

William stared at him blankly. He couldn’t settle anywhere—not until he booted Edward out of Scotland. Lord, had he been selfish to ask for Eva’s hand? Would she want to settle? Blast, he should have asked her.

“Perhaps up north,” William mumbled.

“Good choice. Ye might have a chance of living the family life up in the isles—somewhere out of reach of English galleys.”

Family life?
If only William could allow himself to dream of such luxuries. He was marrying Eva to keep her by his side. Of course if bairns came, he’d be overjoyed—and terrified. What if she did birth a bairn? What was that she’d told him? She wasn’t barren but had a way of preventing pregnancy. Like a simpleton, he’d accepted her explanation without pursuing it further.

A bairn?
Good Lord, no one could ever know about it. The child would never be safe.

By the time Eva descended the stairs and exited the stairwell, William had worried himself into a simpering pile of worthless bones. A man who faced death and stabbed it in the guts near every day, stood staring at his bride while pure terror pulsed through his veins. He could call the whole thing off right there and now. Probably should.

“Holy Jesus save us all,” said Blair.

William blinked. Good God, if his knees were a pile of worthless bones before, they just turned to complete mush. Aye, he’d expected her to clean up well—to look like a queen. But this—this
woman
looked more like a goddess. Jesu, she embodied a vision. Never in his life had he seen a woman look bonnier.

Blair elbowed William and turned his lips toward his ear. “If ye didna believe her a sorceress afore, I reckon ye ought to now.”

He’d given the tailor a few pieces of silver and told the man to have her ready by vespers. But holy merciful Mary and all the saints, she looked so beautiful. Dressed in gold from her veil to a gown lovelier than anything he’d seen at the French court, a glowing aura surrounded her. A snug fitting bodice, the low, square neckline framed her breasts like gifts for the unwrapping.

A radiant, golden goddess
.

Better, her vivid green eyes regraded him as if they were the only two people in the hall. His heart leapt when she smiled. No woman could ever take control of his heart with a mere smile. No woman but his Eva.
His
. Och aye, she would finally be William’s wife to have and to hold, and God willing, till death draws them apart.

With a swish of her skirts, Eva climbed the steps and joined him on the dais. He took her hand, so petite in his beefy mitts. At five foot eleven, Eva might be tall, but she lacked nothing in femininity from the wispy curls of red framing her face, to her slender neck, to the lithe fingers resting in his palm.

“Ye look ravishing,” he managed through his arid voice box.

“As do you.” Her gaze trailed down his doublet and chausses as the tip of her tongue snuck out and tapped her upper lip.

“Ahem,” Blair cleared his throat. “Are ye ready?” William loved the priest like a brother, but he lacked a genteel nature—always the gruff warrior-monk.

Nonetheless, he nodded. “Proceed.”

Holding both of Eva’s hands in his, he watched her eyes as Blair launched into a litany of Latin prayers. The green flickered with gold from the candelabra above as she boldly met his stare. Their gazes bonded, as if an invisible current connected their souls, as if they would never be parted and live as one throughout eternity. Two souls brought together from different ages. What were the chances of their meeting? Nil, for certain.

Whatever brought them together carried power beyond William’s reasoning. Something so supreme and mighty could not be ignored. Their love exceeded all bounds.
Faith, hope, love…and the greatest of these is love
. In the depths of his heart, William knew the passage he’d read over and over in his psalter to be true.

Suddenly the hall became silent. Eva inclined her head toward Blair.

Right. The vows
.

His mouth suddenly dry, William licked his lips. “I take ye as my wife.”

“I receive you,” Eva said, her voice sure.

“I give my body to ye, Eva, in loyal matrimony.”

“And I receive it.”

William glanced at Blair, who, ever the somber warrior, couldn’t manage a wee grin. The priest gestured to Eva.

She took in a deep inhale. William tensed. She’d agreed to recite the vows from his time, though she’d chewed her nails a bit when they’d discussed it.

“I take you as my husband,” she said.

Sunshine radiated through his chest. “And I receive ye.”

“I give my body to you, William, in loyal matrimony.”

“And I receive it.”

Together they recited the rest, “I will keep you in health and sickness and in any condition it please our Lord that you should have, nor for worse or for better will I change toward you until the end.”

But there would be no end. William knew it to the depths of his soul.

***

Floating, Eva still couldn’t believe she’d gone through with it. She’d actually married William Wallace, the man of her dreams.

But this was no dream.

And she’d never been happier in her life.

Or more afraid.

What if she ended up pregnant? A lump of ice spread throughout her chest and made the back of her neck tingle. She already could be.
But what if? Would it be so bad?

Blinking in rapid succession, Eva pushed her thoughts to the back of her mind. She refused to allow herself to think of the long term.

Tonight she would cast her fears aside and enjoy the celebration. She’d finally pledged her love to William and sealed it with an everlasting bond—and the medallion had remained cool against her skin. Living for the now took on new meaning. The present was all that existed. There could be no past, no future.

Only by adhering to this creed would she cling to her sanity.

“What say ye, Eva?” William asked beside her.

Unable to fake her way out of obliviousness, she looked up with a blank stare. “Pardon?”

Everyone at the table laughed.

“Perhaps she isna as talented as ye say, William,” said Sir Forrester.

“Och, she sings prettier than a meadow lark,” said Blair. Her singing was about the only thing the priest approved of.

His lordship made a sweeping gesture toward the musicians accompanying the feast with flute, drum and harp. “Well then, haste ye to the gallery and sing us a wee ballad.”

Eva clung to William’s arm. “But this is my wedding day. Is the bride to provide the entertainment? Is she not supposed to be regaled, instead?”

“She does have a quick wit about her, Wallace. Are ye certain ye can handle such a woman in the bedchamber?” said Forrester, guzzling yet another tankard of ale, his medieval humor making the hairs on the back of Eva’s neck prickle a bit.

“Come.” William gave her a nudge. “Sing us the one about being raised up.”

“You remember that?” she asked.

“Aye. ’Twas the first time I couldna take my eyes off ye.”

“How can a lass refuse when her spouse pays such a compliment?” said Forrester.

Eva sighed.

William patted her hand. “There’s a goodly wife.”

Climbing the winding steps to the gallery, Eva recited the modern Irish folk tune
You Raise Me Up
in her head. She hadn’t done much singing in the past eight years. Hopefully she still had a voice.

“Good evening gentlemen,” she said, stepping onto the gallery platform. “Ah, I’m going to sing a wee tune for my husband. You’re welcome to chime in…”

Before she started, Eva gazed out over the great hall filled with tables lined end-to-end. One face stood out in the crowd. Robbie Boyd met her gaze, his mien expressionless. The young man was one of the few in the hall who’d heard her sing before. At one time he’d been a good friend, a young lad Eva had nurtured.

But now he held her at arm’s length—didn’t trust her just like John Blair. Well, now she and William had married, perhaps the time had come to rekindle their friendship. If only she knew what to do to make him trust her again.

Closing her eyes she took a deep breath and cleared her mind of all worries before she began. “
When I am down and, oh my soul’s so weary…”
How could she have doubted herself? The old pipes didn’t let her down. All banter in the hall ceased. William watched her throughout the duration of the ballad—the look on his face reverent, yet predatory. She sang for him because she knew how much he loved this song. She sang for him because he’d asked her to do so. She would not deny him.

If nothing else, she vowed to make the coming months the happiest of his life.

A fortnight later, William sat alone in Sir Forrester’s chamber with the Earl of Carrick, Robert Bruce. The man was broad-shouldered and comely with a hawkish gaze. William didn’t know Bruce well, but aside from Eva’s confidence, he didn’t trust the earl. Ever since Falkirk, he’d learned to hold the nobility at arm’s length altogether. Probably a foolish notion. Scotland would never again stand on her feet if a lofty nobleman did not step forward.

At least the man across the table looked the part.

But does he have the heart of a lion?

Lord Bruce placed his arms on the table and leaned forward with a commanding glint in his eye. “I received your message—now ye’d best make haste to tell me why I am here. Torwood is too bloody close to Stirling for my tastes.”

William liked Bruce’s unrest—it spoke volumes that the earl harbored no deep-seated love for Longshanks. The English had more spies between Edinburgh and Stirling than anywhere in Scotland. “What better place to hide than under their noses?”

“Aye, ye may need to hide, but not me.”

“Hmm.” William clenched and unclenched his fists. “Playing with two decks are ye?”

“That, sir, is none of your concern.” The earl pushed back his chair. “I assume ye didna send for me for a discussion about avoiding the English.”

“Nay.” William stroked his fingers along his cropped beard. “Why did ye not fight at Falkirk?”

Lord Bruce tugged on his jerkin, frowning like the question gave his stomach unease. “Why should I be inclined to reveal my hand to the likes of ye? Ye’re no longer Guardian.”

“Aye, but I still have the ear of the commoners.” William shifted in his seat. “I lost a great deal at Falkirk and Scotland lost more. If nothing else, I am due an answer.”

Pursing his lips, the earl nodded. “I suppose ye are right, damn it all. ’Twas my father’s request—and my future father-in-law’s as well. I was in negotiations with the Earl of Ulster when he received the order to march with Edward.”

“So ye opted to remain impartial?”

“I couldna exactly throw away negotiations to win Lady de Burgh’s hand and take up arms against her father. ’Twas far too advantageous an alliance.”

Putting lands and titles afore duty to king?
“Did ye ken the outcome of the battle?”

Frowning, Lord Bruce studied his fingernails. “I kent your position was precarious.”

“Because certain nobles would turn backstabbers?”

The earl looked him in the eye and nodded.

“So ye sat idle while Scottish blood soaked the battlefield?” William’s fists clenched into balls.

“I didna come here to be interrogated by the likes of ye, sir. I acted and continued to act in the best interests of the Kingdom.”

“Is that so?” William sat back and crossed his arms. “Yet ye own lands on both sides of the border.”

“I was born in Scotland.” The man sat square and smacked his pointer finger into the table. “My alliances on the other side of the border only serve to strengthen our defenses along the boundary of Galloway. If I did not employ loyal men across the border, my lands would undergo endless raids.”

William couldn’t argue Lord Bruce’s point. The earl had suffered more than most trying to protect his lands against the senseless border reivers. Yet, Wallace needed more. “What is your quarrel with the Earl of Badenoch?”

Bruce threw back his head and laughed. “Aside from John Comyn being a sniveling arse?”

William didn’t smile. “Aye.”

“There is no noble in all of Scotland more loyal to Edward than Badenoch. As Guardian, he’s no more effective than the puppet king. I couldna tolerate Comyn’s milk-livered deference when I served beside him. God’s blood, I’ve sworn on my first wife’s grave I will never pay heed to that tyrant again.”

“Strong words.” William moved to the sideboard and pulled the stopper from a flagon of whisky. “I must say your actions make it difficult to determine which side ye’re on.”

The earl flung his arms to his sides, the span nearly the breadth of the oblong table. “Do ye not think that is by design? Damnation, man, England has us by the cods. My position is perilous. There are times when it is best to lay low so a man can live to fight another day.”

William poured two drams. “That’s what worries me.”

“Pardon?”

After placing one in front of Lord Bruce, William returned to his chair. “Do ye agree Scotland is in worse condition now than when I ruled as Guardian?”

“Aye, especially now that Comyn is eating out of Edward’s palm.” The earl sipped.

“But still there are unanswered raids against our countrymen. Our people are huddled in their homes at night afeard the bastard will next turn on them. Do ye plan to sit idle whilst Longshanks further sinks in his talons until he has bled us dry—until all of our sons have died fighting his battles on foreign soil?”

“I—”

William slammed his fist on the table. “Or have ye a plan to do something about it?”

Bruce leaned forward, both hands splayed wide as he eyed Wallace. “Ye are the cause of much of the bloodshed.”

William shoved back his chair and stood, his fingers itching to draw his dirk. “Explain yourself and ye’d best do it quick afore we come to blows.”

The earl smirked, folding his arms. “Think on it. Every sennight the price for your head rises a wee bit higher. With every plunder of Scottish villages, the soldiers are demanding, ‘where is Wallace?’. Do ye believe with your petty raids ye are doing the commoners a service—running the English out of Scotland?”

William threw up his hands. “Bloody hell, someone must take a stand and I seem to be the only man bold enough to do so.”

“Aye?” Bruce stood and sauntered around the table, hand resting atop his sword’s pommel. “Ye canna stay anywhere without being hunted. To be perfectly clear, my presence here is a threat to
my
life.”

William narrowed his eyes and examined the earl. “Then why’d ye come?”

“Because I respect ye.” Bruce lowered his hand to his side. “And because I am as sick as ye are, watching Longshanks’ tyranny unfold time and time again.”

Tension shed from his shoulders as William resumed his seat. “I need someone—a nobleman who is strong enough to commit to end Longshank’s madness—a man who willna turn his back on Scotland no matter what.”

“England’s army is too strong.” Following William’s lead, his lordship shook his head and sat. “As ye said, Comyn has allowed Edward to sink his claws deep. There is no corner of Scotland without its spies or well-trained English soldiers within a day’s march.”

William took a long sip of his whisky and slowly lowered the cup to the board. “We stopped them afore.”

The earl leaned back and scrubbed his fingers through his beard. “We must build our numbers.”

“Aye, but first we need commitment from a man like ye. A man with the pedigree to become
king
. A man brave enough to push the Comyn line aside and take the crown—not for himself, but to save his people.”

Robert Bruce, Earl of Carrick, stared at Wallace for a long while before he blinked. Then he opened his mouth and took in a sharp gasp.

William’s heart squeezed. He knew his words struck deep. “Can ye unite the nobles—bring together their armies?”

“It will take time.” Lord Robert drummed his fingers against his lips. “Ye may have been efficient at dispatching the matters of state, but ye didna make alliances when ye were in Stirling.”

“I ken, and the more I’ve thought on it, the more I realize I should have smoothed a few feathers, especially after we invaded England.” Shaking his head, William looked to the ceiling. “If I had stopped and rallied them behind me—played the political game—perhaps we might have won at Falkirk.”

“It sounds like ye’ve put a great deal of thought into it.”

“Aye. I had an entire year to ponder the error of my ways whilst I rotted in King Philip’s dungeon.”

“I dunna ken.” Thoughtfully, Lord Bruce stroked his fingers, smoothing his whiskers. “I fear ye burned too many bridges.”

“’Tis all the more reason to have ye behind us—keep my role quiet.” Tension again clamped William’s shoulders. He’d brought Robert Bruce here for a reason and now was the time to reveal his hand. “I aim to travel to the far north. Build a secret army.”

“Ye mean to disappear?”

“Aye, give Longshanks time to forget his hate.”

Bruce reached for the flagon and poured himself another dram, his expression pinched as if thinking. “That man is insane with loathing for ye. It burns so strong, he’ll take it to the grave for certain.”

“If the reports of sightings ebb, do ye think the English raids will stop?”

“There’s no way of knowing until we try. I reckon the problem is now that the war in France is over, Edward needs somewhere to focus his bloodlust. Unfortunate the man has chosen ye to pursue with relentless insanity. At least France had a fighting chance. ’Tis an entire country.”

“So is Scotland.” William chuckled—but the reality of Edward’s lust for vengeance struck a chord in his gut. “What would Longshanks do if he took my head? Would one man’s life save a nation?”

The earl shrugged with a hiss. “Dunna ken. He needs Scottish coin and men.”

“Aye, but as ye said, with every raid, the soldiers are demanding information seeking
my
whereabouts.”

Bruce narrowed his eyes. “If we used ye as bait…perhaps ’twould quell his bloodlust long enough for us to move against him.” Drumming his fingers, he continued, “But your plan to assemble an army to the north has merit.”

“Only if ye can send me men—with the English none the wiser.”

“’Twill be a challenge keeping your whereabouts a secret.”

“Aye.”

William topped up Bruce’s cup and poured more for himself while they formulated their plans to secretly send men to Orkney. Only the best warriors would go—hand-picked by the earl. And all the while, Bruce would send out spies to watch Longshanks’ officers. God willing, this would be a giant leap toward taking back the Kingdom.

A loud boom shook the walls in the solar. Muffled shouts hailed from above.

The door swung open. Sir Forrester barreled in with sword in hand. “Haste ye to the postern gate. We are under attack!”

William’s hand flew to his sword. “To the battlements!”

“No!” Lord Bruce clapped his meaty palms on the board. “If ye have learned nothing from our discussion, do ye not understand there is a time to fight and a time to flee? Let us build our forces so we can fight another day. Fight to win!”

William gritted his teeth and jammed his weapon deep into its scabbard. “I will hold ye to your promises.”

***

Eva sprang to her feet with a jolt of alarm. Though she’d heard the boom from the portcullis before, it hadn’t closed with so much force the whole castle shook. Clipped shouts came from above and rose from the courtyard below.

Whipping around, she spotted her satchel with its contents spread across her bed. Taking in a sharp gasp, she raced for it and started shoving her things inside.

The chamber door burst open. “We must haste!” William snatched their cloaks from the hooks and ran to her as he swung his mantle around his shoulders. “’Tis the English. Quickly now.”

After slinging the satchel over her shoulder, Eva tied her mantle closed. “Where is the earl?”

“Gone.” Clasping his fingers around her arm, he pulled her toward the door. “We’ve not a moment to waste.”

Eva stumbled over her skirts and fell into him. Damn. If only she had a pair of practical shoes. Her slippers were but thin strips of pigskin with hardened leather soles. A good pair of running shoes would come in handy about now.

As she straightened, William bent his knees and grasped her waist. Before she could skitter away, her enormous husband hefted her over his shoulder.

She kicked her legs. “Put me down. I can run!” His shoulder digging into her gut, she smacked him on the back.

William didn’t even slow down. “I can run faster,” his deep voice growled.

Eva had no choice but to hold on to his belt as she flopped, draped across his shoulder like a sack of oats. William crouched as he entered the stairwell, winding down the servants steps. Her head thudded into the wall.

“Ow.” Just as she clapped a hand to her temple, her bum hit even harder. “Easy!” she yelled.

“Nearly there.”

Dashing outside into the mud, William threw her over a horse’s withers as if she were a bedroll. “Are the men ready?”

“Aye,” Blair said. “We must haste.”

Eva slung an arm around the horse’s neck and kicked her leg, only to be met by something hard.

William mounted in the saddle behind her. “Hang on, lass. ’Twill be a bumpy ride.”

Bumpy wasn’t the half of it. With a firm jab of William’s spurs, the horse lurched into a thundering gallop. Eva’s body bounced like a flopping fish out of water. Worse, her gut hit hard with the stallion’s every stride, making each breath whoosh from her lungs.

“Latch on to my leg,” he barked with such intensity, Eva dare not question him. Good God, why did she always end up upside down across William’s mount with her ass in the air?